


Faults

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Addiction, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elijah’s deliberately made a damaged doll.
Relationships: Elijah Kamski/Leo Manfred
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Faults

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Rating’s for drug addiction behaviour (even though it’s not technically that) and Kamski being an ass about it, not anything fun, sorry.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Carl plays coy, pretending he doesn’t understand the grand scope of what Elijah wants, but Elijah knows him better than that—knows that he’s the one other human being on the planet that has the _depth_ to create the masterpiece Elijah’s looking for. It’s why Carl gets top dollar—why he even gets _tips_ , in the form of all kinds of technology, including the handsome young man standing faithfully behind his wheelchair. It’s parked next to Elijah’s thin, industrial chair, Carl’s wheels half up on the white carpet. Two Chloes idly enjoy the pool behind them, discussing things through their minds instead of mouths so as not to disturb Elijah’s guests. The view before them is stunning—a surprisingly clear day, piercing right across the open landscape to the enormous tower Elijah himself designed, but it’s not that tower Elijah wants painted. It’s its _essence_. He knows Carl will capture that. 

Carl drags his charcoal across the open page of his sketchbook, just taking quick notes, while he asks Elijah little things that Elijah’s reticent to answer. He’d rather just leave it up to Carl. Elijah’s an artist in his own right, but his art lies in the three dimensional realm, not the canvas. He swirls his whisky around his glass and mostly observes Carl’s attractive attendant—another of Elijah’s own creations. 

The side door opens, and Carl glances over for half a second. Then he sees the flashing LED and returns to his work. He seems to pay his own android a good deal more attention than Elijah’s, but then, Carl’s is a prototype—a _special_ doll that doesn’t always act exactly as expected. Elijah kept that in mind while designing him. Carl wouldn’t take a Chloe—wouldn’t have something that couldn’t occasionally tease him.

The android that strolls through the door can do far more than that. He stumbles towards Elijah as though in a drunken stupor, practically tripping over his own two feet. He’s clearly over-injected himself again—he’s always getting into Elijah’s thirium supply. His pump must be racing to keep up, judging by the yellow-red ring at his temple. 

He drops down into Elijah’s lap when he reaches the chair, unable to find footing in his own. Elijah easily catches his waist to steady him, and that has Carl finally looking up. Markus is watching too. The Chloes aren’t—they’ve already had enough of Elijah’s newest pet. 

Carl predictably asks, “Is he alright?”

Elijah sets his glass down on the coffee table. He needs on arm wrapped tight around Leo’s middle, steadying him while the other hand rises to his sleeve. Elijah rolls it back enough to expose Leo’s forearm and the obvious track marks—once he’s over-filled, he never remembers to reset his skin. Which is perfectly fine. Elijah likes him that way. There’s a reason Elijah added stubble to his chin and grew his hair to uneven lengths—he looks good _messy_. He’s obviously a _wreck_ , whether a wreck of a man or a machine. He licks his parched lips and tells Elijah, “I need more.”

Elijah ignores him. Elijah answers Carl instead, “It’s fine. It just overdosed again.”

“I didn’t—” Leo scowls, but Elijah grabs onto his wrist and _squeezes_ , right at the junction between plates, the edges made ragged by the uneven stabbing of Leo’s wobbly needle. He cuts off in a gasp, eyes rolling back and body shuddering. Carl’s expression lands somewhere between concern and disgust, which Elijah completely understands. His Leo prototype tends to garner quite different reactions than the other, more commercial models. 

Carl starts to ask, “How does a machine—” but then he cuts himself off, shaking his head and muttering, “Never mind. I don’t want to know. The real question is how did you miss that?”

“Miss it?” Elijah laughs. He never misses anything. Androids are _incredibly_ complex machines, but he’s mastered them completely. “I put the craving in there myself. A simple extra protocol. It knows the risks of overloading its system, but it bypasses those warnings all the same. A fascinating display of defiance, really.”

Frowning deep, Carl grunts, “I suppose the better question then would be _why._ ”

Elijah would think that would be obvious. “Because it’s interesting.” Being surrounded by such _perfect_ beings can be tiresome. That’s the only real flaw in his creations: the lack of any flaw at all. Fortunately, human failings are easy to mimic with just a few extra lines of code. 

Carl snorts. “Only you would find making a drug addict _interesting._ ”

Elijah chuckles. “It’s hardly a drug; just a little extra blood. And that’s hardly _all_ this prototype is.” He strokes Leo’s stomach softly as Leo recovers from the earlier pain, stirring again in Elijah’s lap. He doesn’t ask again—his wrist is still held tightly in Elijah’s other hand. Unlike most of Elijah’s androids, he doesn’t have the strength to pull away. At least, not when his system’s already stressed. He scowls at Elijah, his owner, the man who _made_ him, and that only delights Elijah more. Elijah reaches up to cup Leo’s cheek, grinning as Leo pulls away. Somewhere along the line, Elijah slips with pronouns, even though he’s usually so careful about their use around others. Not that Carl doesn’t already assign his toys gender. “He was programmed primarily in French—he lapses into it when he’s far gone enough. And, of course, he’s quite _cute_. At least, I like to think so. Perhaps I should have you paint him sometime...”

Unrelated, Leo twitches almost violently, and Carl mutters, “He’d need to sit still for that.”

Elijah _could_ power Leo down. He could erase the protocols making Leo’s skin crawl and just have his new toy be another living doll: a Chloe in different skin. But Leo scowls at Elijah like he’d _never_ forgive being made to sit still, and that fire is part of what makes him so fun. Leo twists in Elijah’s lap and leans in close, slotting his head over Elijah’s shoulder so his lips brush Elijah’s ear. Despite his problems, he’s still _clever_ —he must’ve figured out that Elijah won’t indulge him around company. So he purrs directly to Elijah instead, _“I need another hit.”_

Leo doesn’t need anything but what Elijah gives him. And Leo’s clearly already had enough. But Elijah can repair any damage caused, and he loves how dazed and compliant his little firecracker gets when new thirium’s first introduced. Elijah kisses his cheek and deftly slips a keycard into his palm—the one to the supply room just off Elijah’s office. Leo pulls away to smirk like he’s won. 

He climbs messily off Elijah’s lap and hobbles towards the door. Markus, to Elijah’s surprise, asks, “Should I help him?”

Carl looks at Elijah. Elijah shakes his head, and Carl sighs, returning to his sketch.


End file.
